Godzilla and Anguirus
by Azhriaz
Summary: In the 60s, Godzilla fights Anguirus with an unusual conclusion. Ten years later, they have another encounter and end up fighting together.


Disclaimer: Godzilla® is the registered trademark of Toho Co., Ltd. All Godzilla characters, etc, are the property of Toho Co., Ltd. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Prologue

Godzilla usually absorbed any water he needed from the ocean, but sometimes he found a pool on land that tasted intriguing, and this was one of them. Near a hot spring on a deserted Australian coast was a warm, turquoise blue pool, enriched by minerals to give it a unique and interesting taste, and it was his. While he didn't normally come this far south, he did like to explore once in a while, and thankfully, there were few of those pesky humans in this region.

As he bent down to drink, the sound of crashing from the rolling hills to the north reached his ears, and he straightened up to see a very odd creature waddling in: a large quadruped with a spiny carapace that reminded him of something from his pre-mutant state: a sea turtle? Except that the sea turtle was far smaller and didn't have all those spikes on its shell. Good eating, though. His reminiscences were derailed when he realized that it was making its way directly towards him. Straightening up, he glared down at it from his considerable height, but it ignored him except to change its course a little to his right. It wasn't coming at him after all; it was after his pond.

Territorial instincts flared to life, and he growled fiercely at the creature, warning it away. Though it did come to a halt on hearing him, it didn't turn and leave. No, it just stared at him with its beady eyes, and then it ignored his warning and resumed waddling towards his pond. That was enough! Godzilla stepped directly into its way and snarled even more ferociously. Once again, it stopped to stare at him, but it wasn't the slightest bit intimidated, the stupid thing.

They stared at each other for a few moments, one tall, confident, and powerful, the other close to the ground, determined, and apparently inferior, and then the turtle-thing raised its head and wailed a haunting, mournful cry. He answered with his own thundering primal challenge, tail up and swaying gently in eager anticipation of the coming battle. The creature took the offensive, scrambling towards him with startling speed. Demonstrating some speed of his own, Godzilla whirled and bent forward for balance as his long, heavy tail lashed at the turtle-thing's feet and bowled it over. Continuing his whirl, he faced front again and smugly watched it fall onto its back. That would teach it to challenge _him_.

It squirmed and wriggled, stuck on its back until it got some leverage against the hillside with its clawed feet, enough to laboriously turn it right side up again. Godzilla merely watched in amusement, though he sensed its growing anger. Instead of doing the sensible thing and waddling back to wherever it came from, it ran towards him. Once again, he spun to thrash it with his tail, but it apparently learned from the last time and was ready for him. Rearing upwards on its hind legs to avoid the lash, it leapt forward to renew the attack and pounced on Godzilla's clawed foot just as he finished his spin.

Sharp teeth stabbed into Godzilla's toes, and he screeched in mingled surprise and pain. Though he tried to kick it loose, it refused to let go, and he lost his balance and fell. Now he was mad. Whipping his bulky tail forward, he hit it with enough force to jar teeth loose, but it took several resounding smacks before it released him. While it was still stunned, he awkwardly rolled into closer range and slashed at it with his claws. Not one of his better ideas. They yelped in tandem as his claws drew blood from the turtle-thing's neck and swept on to impact squarely on its spiked back, puncturing his own hand as well.

Godzilla hastily lurched to his feet, nursing his bleeding hand for the moment it took to heal. Unfortunately for the creature, it had no regenerative abilities and was stuck with its injuries. It still wasn't giving up, though, and charged him again. Catching on to its tactics – or lack thereof – Godzilla sidestepped the rush and barely caught himself back from kicking it. No, no. Bad idea. Keeping to what worked before, he aimed a tail lash at its feet and knocked it flying again. And again. And again. Sometimes it dodged, most of the time it did not, but the turtle-thing just wouldn't give up.

Its blood dripped onto the rocky ground as it paused to catch its breath, staring up at him with determined eyes. It was slowing now. He could sense its weariness, its injuries, but there was no give in it. He would have to beat it to unconsciousness before it stopped, and Godzilla was certain that it would try again as soon as it awakened. He stared back at it, baffled, but had to admit that it was not weak.

Pulling itself together after the brief rest, it waddled slowly towards him, a far cry from its previous rushes, but it didn't have the strength left for anything more vigorous than that. Godzilla watched it, tail lashing violently in indecision, but as it approached, he stepped aside. At first it didn't realize that he'd moved out of the way, but then it came to a stop and laboriously raised its heavy head to look up at him.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then the turtle-thing slowly crawled past him to the pond and drank deeply, thirstily. That was all it wanted. There were no victory cries, no feelings of triumph. It was thirsty, and now it had satisfied that thirst. After that, it fell asleep at the edge of the water.

Godzilla stomped over to the pond beside it and drank as well. Once he finished, he peered thoughtfully at the sleeping creature._Perseverance, Strong, Brave_, he named it, and then added with wry amusement, _Willful_, one of his own names. Eventually, it would gain a name that no other had had before it: _Friend_.

The humans, though, had a different name for the creature; they called it Anguirus.

* * *

Ten years later... 

The cold mountains of northern Siberia were a place rarely visited by mankind and never before by Godzilla, yet here he was. Passing northward through the Bering Strait in pursuit of a nuclear submarine, he lost it in the icy water as it fled beneath the Arctic ice cap. Rather than immediately head back south, he was suddenly struck with the desire to explore and swam westward, skirting the northern edge of Siberia. It was cold, even for him, but he could endure it for a few days before the extreme cold forced him too close to hibernation.

Even here, the humans built their smelly cities, but they were few, nothing at all like the coastline of Japan so far to the south. Coming ashore at an unpopulated coastal plain, he took the path of least resistance and followed a narrow river valley southwest. Lofty, snow-capped mountains towered over his head, and he had to crane his neck just to see their summits. Tall as they were, to him they were dwarfed by the massive underwater mountain ranges he'd seen in the South Pacific: peaks so high they made even him feel insignificant.

After a few hours of striding through the mountains, he began feeling the chill of the Arctic climate creep over him. That, and he was getting bored with the never-changing scenery. Yes, it was impressive, but it would be nice to see something different once in a while. The extreme cold completely stifled his sense of smell, but he sensed _something_ far ahead: energy patterns... which invariably indicated the presence of humans. It was enough to ruin his sight-seeing tour, but as he was feeling relatively even-tempered today, he simply turned back instead of inflicting his displeasure upon them. His path back to the waiting sea was clear before him, but before he went any further, he stopped to drink at the half-frozen river.

The river water was icy cold, numbing his throat, and a moment passed before he detected something terribly wrong with the taste. Spitting out what little he had left in his mouth, he felt something he hadn't felt since before his mutation: sick to his stomach. The old reflex was gone, and there was to be no emptying his stomach of the nasty stuff. It... hurt. His first impulse, as always when he was seriously injured, was to return to the sanctuary of the sea.

He was slower now, not only because of the intense pain but because he couldn't think clearly. Though he could also feel the warm, crawling sensation that marked the healing activity of his body, it was barely keeping up with the damage being done. What was in that water? It tasted like the some of the worst of the virulent toxins with which the stupid humans poisoned the vast oceans, with something worse besides.

Despite the obviousness of his footprints imprinted deep in the snow, he lost his way and staggered deeper into the icy mountains. Even his excellent sense of direction was impaired, and he wandered deliriously through the pristine snow, his body weakening as the poison spread from his stomach into his bloodstream. Despite the illusion of heat flushing through his massive form, he was cold, deathly cold, and that is what finally brought him down.

The heavy impact with the snow-covered slope was the only way he knew that he had fallen. Slowly raising his head, he blinked away the snow in his eyes, but it was hard to keep his eyes open now. Rest... he needed to rest for a little while. The pain and the crawling sensation were lessening, proof that the incredible healing power of his body had triumphed over the humans' poison, but he was so very tired. Laying his head back down, his amber eyes gradually closed, and he drifted away into pleasant dreams of warm water and sunny beaches.

His respiration and heart rate slowed, his temperature stabilizing just above freezing, and unless there was a radical change in the climate, he would stay that way. After several days, the steadily falling snow eventually cloaked even his huge body from view, leaving only an undistinguished mound of snow in the snowy mountains.

Days passed into months, and months into years before another traveler came this way. Godzilla was unaware of this visitor, not even when it snuffled at him, nudged him, wailed at him, and even bit him. Hibernation held him firmly within its icy grip. It wasn't until weeks later, after his rescuer arduously dragged his frigid body southward to warmer temperatures, that he began to awaken, if only enough to realize that something was happening.

Still dazed and sluggish from the cold, he was first aware of movement along the cold, rocky ground. He was being dragged by his tail...? Weakly rumbling a protest, he squirmed and tried to dig his claws in the ground to free himself from whatever was dragging him, and at the same time, he tried to jerk his tail away, but both attempts were in vain.

Quickly losing interest in resisting, he tried to go back to sleep, but that also was in vain. The movement stopped, and something was snuffling at his ear. Unlike mammals, he had little movement in his ears and that tickled. He shook his head, weakly at first, then with more vigor as he felt a cold nose against the side of his head. On opening his eyes again, he found himself looking at a thickly-armored head, sporting a horn on its snout and crowned by a curving half-ring of spikes. He knew that face... Perseverance, Strong, Brave, Willful. The turtle-thing he fought almost ten years ago over the drinking rights at his pond, and to whom he eventually granted those rights in honor of its strength, courage, and perseverance.

Dazed amber eyes stared into deep brown eyes. Struggling to stay focused, he concentrated on the creature, sensing its emotions. It was... worried about him? Along with the worry, it was cold and exhausted but still determined. _Willful_, Godzilla reminded himself with some amusement. It nudged him urgently, persistently.

He shook his head again, lethargic from the bitter cold. The cold... he was suddenly aware that he was very cold himself, but that was easily remedied. Reaching into his Spark, he drew enough energy for a brief pulse to warm his chilled body. That would last for a while, but not even he could fight a Russian winter forever. It was time to go back to the ocean.

Another nudge from the unpleasantly cold nose of the turtle-thing reminded him that it, too, was very cold. Generating a second pulse of energy, he projected it to the turtle-thing, sharing his warmth as he once shared his water. There was a more direct way of heating it, but he doubted it would appreciate a blast of blue-tinted thermonuclear power, though it would certainly relieve his own feelings at having fallen into this stupid predicament. He felt its relief as its body warmed, the relaxation of its weeks-old strain. It, too, was a reptile, and only its never-say-die attitude prevented it from giving in to the cold itself. As before, it fell asleep.

Rolling stiffly to his feet, Godzilla found himself in low hills rather than mountains. Matching the energy patterns of the Earth's magnetic field to his previous location, he determined that he was roughly several hundred miles south of where he drank the humans' poisoned water. He snarled silently at the reminder; he really should have destroyed their city or base or whatever it was. So much for sparing them.

Far to the north, he could still see the lofty mountains, and to the south, the hills leveled off into vast, barren tundra. Also to the north was a deep, irregular trail of disturbed earth, and he suddenly realized that the turtle-thing must have dragged him all the way here. Now that was impressive, considering their respective sizes. Coiling his long tail forward to inspect some residual soreness, he saw the fading tooth marks that proved his theory correct.

It was concerned for him, and it had exhausted itself dragging him here, risking a lapse into deadly hibernation itself. If it hadn't, he might have slept forever. No one else had ever deliberately helped him before, and he was grateful. Grateful and puzzled. All he had done was share his water with it, not exactly motivation to risk so much. Was non-hostile contact as rare for it as it was for him?

While the creature rested, he kept watch, pacing a wide perimeter in the rocky ground that he decreed as _his_ territory. Every so often, he would pause to generate another burst of heat for both himself and Perseverance-Strong-Brave-Willful. The pale, winter-weakened sun gradually set in the west, but he had no need to rest. Nor would it be a good idea, considering the chilliness of the night. Instead, he watched the crescent moon rise, at least for the short time before swirling clouds first haloed and then extinguished its light. The temperature dropped steadily, requiring even more frequent stops to heat the two of them, and he resolved never to come to this terrible land again. A terrible land and terrible creatures who would poison their own water.

His feet were cold, he was getting stiff, and he was far from the ocean. Stupid humans. It was all their fault that he was here. Considering his mood right now, he would be happy to see a squadron of fighters descend from the dark, cloudy skies, just so he could blast them to nothingness.

Be careful what you wish for...

The sun rose, hidden behind a thick cloud cover, but it at least provided light. A puzzled pilot in a patrolling fighter jet followed the well-marked trail left by their passage to find much more than he expected, and he barely avoided disaster in the form of a nuclear blast from an annoyed Godzilla. The panicked pilot promptly retreated, radioing ahead to warn of the monsters' invasion of southern Chukotka.

The Russians were nonplussed; Godzilla had never been seen in the Soviet Union before, not even to raid their coastlines, but they were confident in their firepower. However, they had never faced the nuclear leviathan before and had little idea of what they were up against. The second, apparently sleeping monster was identified as Anguirus, who _was_ known to make occasional, random appearances in remote areas of their country before burrowing underground again.

Godzilla sensed the aircraft before it came into sight but was disappointed that there was only one. Hardly worth the time to blast it, and so he didn't put much effort into his aim. The jet avoided the blast and wisely fled southwards. He hoped it would bring back more of its kind, which was typical of these encounters, and his hopes were realized within an hour.

Three squadrons of sleek MiG-27s, the closest available aircraft, were sent to intercept the invading monsters, with more to come from further away. They had heard of Godzilla and his attacks on Japan, of course, but usually dismissed them as proof of Japan's inferior firepower. This was their opportunity to show Japan and the rest of the world that the Soviet Union was indeed a world-class power. Diving in precise formation, they fired their 30-mm cannons at the eagerly-waiting monster.

Second thoughts plagued Godzilla, not because of any doubts about his ability to handle the attack, but because the turtle-thing was still asleep, and he didn't want to disturb it. He himself hated being awakened from a nap and tended to be extremely grumpy afterwards. Battles were inevitably noisy, either because of the jets themselves, the explosions, or because he was enthusiastically vocal during his fights. While he _could_ try to keep quiet, the humans were never so considerate. Besides, that would ruin the fun of the fight for him.

The 30-mm shells impacted on his thick gray hide, doing next to nothing. Biting back a roar of contempt and defiance, Godzilla let them do their worst, and their worst was little more than fleabites to him. Over thirty of the jets buzzed him, continuing to fire their pathetic cannons, but to little effect. Now it was his turn. His spines lit up, and he swept the sky with his trademark nuclear blast, incinerating the five aircraft in its path. That was warning enough for the wiser pilots, who immediately banked away and out of his range. The few bolder – or more foolish – pilots who chose to continue the fight met with the same fate as the first five. The battle was over in less than five minutes, and Godzilla was the undoubted victor, all without even awakening Anguirus. He barely stopped himself from a loud victory cry.

The second wave wouldn't be so easy. He heard them long before they came into range of his perception. These aircraft were slower and noisier than the earlier fighters, and they kept to a much higher altitude, far out of his reach. From 30,000 feet, they rained radar-guided bombs and missiles on him. The sleeping turtle-thing awakened with a start as the earth shook violently beneath it, and large chunks of broken earth and ice pelted it. One thing was a welcome relief; Godzilla didn't have to keep silent any more, and he shattered the air with an angry roar of defiance. That smarted.

There was no reprieve. Here, far away from any human habitation, there was no need for the humans to hold back. Wave after wave of TU-95 Bears carpet-bombed the entire area continuously, and it was taking its toll on even Godzilla. They prudently stayed at high altitudes, out of range of anything but the luckiest of blasts, and only one such lucky blast managed to take out one of them. Anguirus could do nothing at all to defend himself, and worse, he lacked Godzilla's ability to regenerate.

The hills no longer resembled hills so much as the surface of the moon. Pitted with deep, muddy craters and littered with boulders of rock and ice, the broken terrain made the footing almost impossible for Godzilla, though Anguirus did well enough; being a rock-steady quadruped had its benefits. However, Anguirus was getting hurt, and Godzilla had to make a decision that was rarely necessary and that he really hated: to retreat.

Beckoning to the turtle-thing, he slowly picked his way through the uncertain footing, heading to the east. The ocean was in that direction, and far to the southeast was his home. It may be an irradiated, lifeless rock now, but it was still his home. He paused to turn back and make sure that Anguirus was following him, and then he continued at the best speed the two of them could make. They simply had to endure the bombing along the way. Well, at least it was something at which they were both good: stubborn perseverance.

The Russian military commanders were pleased with their results so far, but not so pleased when the targets began moving. On almost a direct line with the monsters' projected course was the Chukotka capital, Anadyr, and they weren't sure whether or not they wanted to sacrifice the city in the attempt to destroy Godzilla and Anguirus. On one hand, the prestige that would come of killing these monsters would benefit Mother Russia, but on the other hand, they were ordinary men and women who didn't want to see innocent Russian citizens die. Their ultimate decision was to do their best to finish them off until they came too close to Anadyr to risk an attack. Evacuation wasn't a possibility, not at such a remote area.

Several times, Godzilla found himself nearly stepping on Anguirus, they were so close together, but at least that way he could shield his comrade from a lot of the explosives. It hurt now, but he was nowhere near crippled, at least not yet. Occasionally, he would pause to voice a roar of frustration and rage and to try another thermonuclear blast at the distant aircraft, but to no avail.

A reprieve eventually came in the form of worsening weather; Russia's own extreme winter climate generated a violent ice storm that cloaked them from the instruments of the inexorable bombers, thus resulting in a sizeable reduction in the firepower being directed at them. Even so, Godzilla had to stop his pulses of warmth; they invited immediate direct hits. The two didn't stop to rest, though, but grimly pushed forward through the blinding blizzard, completely dependent on other senses to guide them.

Despite his best efforts, Anguirus was slowing them down. His short legs were no match for Godzilla's lengthy stride, and they both knew that the humans would be back as soon as the storm lifted. Godzilla was first aware that the turtle-thing had stopped and then of its emotions: regret, determination, a sense of a decision made. Stopping as well, he turned to look in its direction, sending a sense of inquiry. He could barely see its faint outline through the snow, but he had other senses with which to perceive.

Communication was difficult. All they had to work with were emotions and mental images, and these couldn't convey everything. Anguirus pictured the two of them continuing on, the humans bombing them from above, and emphasized his own slow pace. While he could manage a burst of speed on occasion, he couldn't keep it up. He followed that with an image of Godzilla going on without him.

That was met with strenuous protest and outright refusal. Godzilla would not leave him behind. He had confidence in his strength and could withstand the bombing for as long as it took to reach the sea. After all, he'd already regenerated from his previous injuries; all it took was fifteen minutes. Once they reached the ocean, the humans could not follow.

Neither could Anguirus. He pictured himself under the water, drowning. While he could swim to a degree, he certainly couldn't swim underwater, and staying on the surface would leave him in range of the humans' bombing attacks. There was his earlier exhaustion as well, much of which was still there.

Godzilla was taken aback. He hadn't thought of that at all, being a sea creature himself. He _could_ tow Anguirus through the water, but it would be difficult, and Anguirus was right; they would still be in range of those stupid bombs. Right or not, he had no intentions of leaving his comrade behind to save himself. He wouldn't even admit that he was in need of being saved.

Anguirus was equally stubborn about being left, but he had some rationale. He showed an image of himself digging underground and tunneling away from this killing zone. As Godzilla's sanctuary was in the ocean, his was underground. He would be safe there, away from the humans' eyes and weapons. It meant splitting up, but it was the only way.

Reluctant, but seeing the worth of Anguirus' plan, Godzilla had to agree. He sighed and offered his gratitude, and more than that, his friendship. They had saved each other, and they had fought together, if this could be called a fight... He was sorry that they now had to part ways after so brief a time to enjoy their fellowship.

For his part, Anguirus also had regrets. What had started as a simple act of goodwill towards one of the few beings that had ever done him a favor had became an adventure. He didn't regret _that_, just that the humans had to interfere. He felt the projected gratitude, the friendship, and willingly returned it. That was part of the reason why he felt he had to leave: to spare his friend. Aside from the emotions, he also sensed that Godzilla was a focal point for chaos, both intentionally and unintentionally, and while that held a certain attraction for him, it was also a dangerous thing. Godzilla was strong enough to endure the forces of chaos, but he was not. He felt a strange pity for his new friend; he would rarely know peace.

It was agreed. Defying the humans' weaponry, Godzilla generated a large amount of heat, enough to thoroughly warm them both, and Anguirus disappeared into the safety of the underground. Godzilla stomped on the mouth of the tunnel, collapsing it enough to hide it from the humans and any pursuit they might mount.

Tracing the burst of heat, the humans renewed their attacks, but that was an old story to Godzilla. Shrugging off both the attacks and the pain, he strode rapidly eastward, coincidentally towards the city of Anadyr. The cloud cover was beginning to lift, revealing him to the waiting bombers; they did their best to stop him, but their best wasn't good enough.

Smoke from the bombs and dust from the pulverized ground filled the rapidly-moving battlefield, as waves of bombers turned this part of Russia into a little piece of hell on earth. The attacks weren't without effect; Godzilla's gray form was streaked with red rivulets of blood, but almost as fast as the wounds were created, they healed.

As stubborn as Anguirus, he forged onwards, eventually reaching a thin line of hastily-assembled T-72 tanks, and beyond them, the town. At least the carpet bombing had stopped, lest they hit their own troops or damage the city. The last of his wounds healed completely as he paused to survey the forces against him. Was this all they had? The tanks opened fire, and while the rounds stung, they didn't even penetrate his thick scales.

He was tired, and rather than thoroughly demolish the bothersome tanks, he simply kicked those directly in front of him out of his way. They tumbled most satisfyingly. Past the town was the beautiful gray ocean, his destination, and there was nothing left to stop him.

His way was clear, but... there was the matter of punishment. Not for the carpet bombing, however painful that was, but for the poisoning. He studied the town: tiny, compared to Tokyo. He could walk through it in a matter of a few strides. At the harbor, clusters of humans were crowded onto tiny boats, but the boats were few, leaving the majority of the lives he sensed still within the city, frightened and hiding.

It would take very little effort to destroy this place, but there were a few things holding him back. Firstly, the water here wasn't poisoned. It still smelt bad, but less so than the majority of human cities, and he had to give them some credit for that. Secondly, this was far away from the place where he was poisoned, and so they may not have had anything to do with it. Lastly, they didn't seem to recognize him, as the poisoners should. He was not unjust; punishment was due, but not from these humans, and he really didn't feel like retracing his path to the unpleasantly cold northeast to punish the true culprits.

Shaking his head in disgust, he advanced through the town, crushing all before him but nothing worse than that. The humans cowered at the mere sight of him, their palpable fear and horror creating a distasteful miasma of unpleasant emotions, but this time, Destruction in the form of the giant nuclear reptile passed them by.

In the days to come, Godzilla's appearance was hushed up. While Russia would dearly love to crow loudly at their triumph over the infamous devastator of Tokyo, the common soldiers who were actually there knew better. The best they could do was drive him away. He withstood a carpet bombing for two days with little more than scratches to show for it, and if he'd been near a major city, they could have done nothing against him, any more than the Japanese could protect their own cities. Rather than admit to their inability to stop him, they refused to admit that he had been there at all.

Godzilla himself forgot his ordeal quickly enough as he swam to the still-devastated but nice and warm Lagos Island to feed on the radiation still permeating his home. The radiation level was slowly dropping because of it, and once gone, would require that he find other sources of food. That time would come, but not for another decade or so. Until then, rumors of Godzilla sightings remained just that: rumor.

He frequently wondered about his only friend and whether or not they would ever meet again, but only time would give the answer to that.

9


End file.
